last!" came the smothered voice, this[38] time from the top of the jar. "At last, after years of weary waiting and watching, I may speak without breaking my vow." [38] "Then for heaven's sake," cried Hopkins, sinking back into his chair and staring blankly at the jar, "for heaven's sake speak and explain yourself, if you do not wish to drive me to the insane asylum. Who in the name of my honoured partners are you?" There was a moment's pause, and then the answer came,— "I am a weary spirit—a spirit in exile—harmless and unhappy, whose unhappiness you may be able to relieve." "I?" cried Hopkins, wildly. "Yes, you. I am come to intrust my affairs to your hands." "You are—" "A client," returned the spirit. Hopkins gasped twice, closed his eyes, clutched wildly at his heart, and slid down to the floor an inert mass. He had fainted. [39] [39] CHAPTER IV. How [40] "Don't look at me that way, I beg of you, Mr. Toppleton," said the spirit after it had sighed a half dozen times and given an occasional nervous whistle. "I don't deserve all that your glance implies, and if you could only understand me, I think you would sympathize with me in my trials." "I? I sympathize with you? Well, I like that," cried Toppleton, raising himself on his elbow and staring blankly at the vase. "It appears to me that I am the object of sympathy this time. What the deuce are you, anyhow? How am I to understand you, when you
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